


The Many Tests of Jim Moriarty

by Clueingforlooks221B



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Injured Moriarty, M/M, Sexual Humor, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:03:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8582944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clueingforlooks221B/pseuds/Clueingforlooks221B
Summary: James ignored him, not at all fazed by it. Instead he let out a shallow simper that started from the middle of his mouth and curled on its sides. As soon as it came, he dropped it. Ebony pupils darting away, he dismissively waved his small pale hand. The motions of his wave traced along Moran’s outfit. “You can’t wear,” Jim’s nose scrunched as he scoffed, “that.”Moran deadpanned. Originally he didn't plan on talking to Moriarty at all. He just wanted to do his job and get paid. He really didn't want to loose it all over one snarky comment, or not brown-nosing him enough.But he bit into the bait here. “What’s wrong with it?” “Oh, he speaks.” Jim lips opened in the mimic of a grin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this since September and finally decided to go back and edit this; I'm so glad to be posting this. It makes me realize how much I've missed writing these two. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this since September and finally decided to go back and edit this; I'm so glad to be posting this. It makes me realize how much I've missed writing these two. :)

The only instructions given to Moran for the meeting was to stand besides Moriarty.

“You have the perfect resting bitch face.” Jim’s voice went airy, wavering a few octaves. Sebastian would have labeled it as crazed giggles, but the glint in his dark eyes were far from humor. 

Moran chose not to reply.

“Ohh the ever stoic colonel.” 

Once again all Jim received in response was loud silence. 

Silently huffing Sebastian headed towards his room to change out of his clothes, figuring that attending in sweatpants and a white tank top wouldn't make his new boss ecstatic.

From being with Moriarty for a day and a half, Sebastian had already seen his interactions with numerous clients and killed a woman for him. The reason as to why he had to is still unknown to him, but he learned quickly to not ask questions. 

If Sebastian could sum up one word to describe Moriarty so far, it would be psychopath. 

Moriarty would be honored.

But between staying in jail or becoming a personal sniper slash bodyguard, Moran quickly opted for the second options.

After Moran changed into dark jeans, he tucked one of his smaller guns between his right hip and jean. Sure he would be holding his riffle, but Moran knew from past experiences how quickly a man could loose his gun in a fight. Pulling a white shirt over his head, he made sure it concealed the gun as he stepped out of his new room.

Jim’s eyes raked up and down his body twice. Moriarty raised an eyebrow at him, and the unasked question hung thickly between the two. Well? Jim’s manicured eyebrow annunciated the inquiry. Sebastian’s crinkled eyebrows answered what? 

Moriarty huffed, exaggeratedly widening his soot eyes before rolling them. “Oh no no no no,” Each no fell quieter as they slipped out of his light pink lips. “You can’t be serious Sebby,” Sebastian’s eyebrows crumbling intensified, and then abruptly halted. He didn't bother to hide his glare, allowing it to bite in full depth. 

James ignored him, not at all fazed by it. Instead he let out a shallow simper that started from the middle of his mouth and curled on its sides. As soon as it came, he dropped it. Ebony pupils darting away, he dismissively waved his small pale hand. The motions of his wave traced along Moran’s outfit. “You can’t wear,” Jim’s nose scrunched as he scoffed, “that.”

Moran deadpanned. 

Originally he didn't plan on talking to Moriarty at all. He just wanted to do his job and get paid. He really didn't want to loose it all over one snarky comment, or not brown-nosing him enough.  
But he bit into the bait here. “What’s wrong with it?” 

“Oh, he speaks.” Jim lips opened in the mimic of a grin. 

Moran stared back, unimpressed. 

Moriarty raised both of his brows, “Well for one, the shirt is wrinkled.” Moran looked down at his white shirt. He brushed his hand down it, holding it away from his stomach to study it. 

Huh, it is wrinkled. 

“And it is stained.” 

Moran squinted at his shirt, pupils darting around the chiffon cotton. “What? Where?” 

Moriarty roughly exhaled for the umpteenth time, and with hunched shoulders stomped over to him. He roughly jabbed his pointer finger on his left rib. Sebastian glanced down, and immediately swallowed down a laugh. He hadn't realize their height difference was so drastic until now. Moriarty’s head fit right under his neck. Standing this close together Moran loomed over him. With anyone else Sebastian would have called it adorable.

A little voice in the back of Moran’s head did so any ways.

Jim backed up, having to in order to send him a glower. “And your jeans are faded,” Moriarty circled him. Moran swore he could feel Jim’s eyes burning a hole in his arse, “and do not falter you,” Moriarty circled back around, “at all.” He dragged out the last part.

Sebastian frowned at him. Moriarty mirrored him.   “Change.”  

Since arguing about clothes wasn't the way he wanted to die, Moran turned to go back into his room. He bit back his complaints that sprouted up in his esophagus, reminding himself it wasn’t worth it. 

He searched around for a shirt of his that wasn’t wrinkled or stained, which was hard to come by. With only moving in a day ago the first thing on his agenda wasn't to hang up his clothes, so most of them were crinkled since they were crammed in a box. 

That was a great excuse, anyways. Even if he lived with Moriarty for a month Sebastian knew most of his shirts would still be stuffed in a box.

After emptying out his two only boxes, he settled on a pair of darker jeans and a shirt. Sebastian trudged back out hoping this would satisfy his boss. While walking out he adjusts his concealed gun on his hip. 

Right when Jim saw him he shook his head. 

Inwardly Sebastian fumed, but on the outside he lowly growled, “This is all that I have.”

Jim frowned, before sighing, “Do you have any boots?” 

Moran did, to Jim’s shock. After having to return to his room for the third time, Moran then had to make sure his boots were Moriarty-approved. 

“You bought those yourself?” Jim’s voice is laced with doubt, and reeks of the incoming mockery. 

Moran would have feared Jim didn't like them if he hadn't seen the quick glimpse of approval and surprise in his eyes.

Sebastian sighed, “No,” The mockery in Jim’s dark eyes sparkled at that. “they were a gift.” 

Jim didn't care enough to have him elaborate. “Put them on.” 

Sebastian obeyed, but his previous anger struck back in throbbing fury when he stood up and was met with Jim shaking his head. Sebastian jaw tightened, and he pursed his lips to force his words at bay. 

“Untie the laces.” Moriarty commanded, and impatiently begun to check under his nails. Moran already knew they were free from dirt, and perfectly manicured like the rest of the man. 

Moran dropped to his knees, not letting his hesitation take over his actions. He knew Moriarty liked confidence, and hated to repeat himself. Quickly unlacing the boots he looked back up to Jim who was inspecting his other hand. It vaguely reminded Moran of an irritated kitten’s tail flickering back and forth. Immediately he removed the thought from his head, the paranoia that Jim could hear the words bouncing in his mind plaguing him. Moriarty seemed to know everything about everyone. 

“Lace them up the rest of the way.” His tone sounded bored, but his eyes were alight in interest. 

Moran did so, and stood back up once he was done. 

Jim studied him again, and his eyes brightened. He walked over to his closet, and pulled out a gray scarf and a large black coat. 

“One of my old employees got this for me, but of course he was worthless and got the wrong size,” Jim tossed the coat to Moran with no warning, but Sebastian caught it regardless. “That wasn't even the worst thing his tiny meaningless existence committed. But he's taken care of now,” Jim’s lip contorts before dropping to a pout. “Poor stupid Daniel, but people can’t help the way they are,” Jim paused as if muling it over, but Sebastian knew he already knew what he was going to say when he had started the sentence. “Ordinary… and just plain stupid.” 

Jim played with the gray scarf in his hands, and suddenly shot towards Moran. He threw the scarf out, and yanked it forwards so it was tightly around Sebastian’s neck. It rubbed uncomfortably on the back of his neck, scorching his skin, as James tied the scarf together in the front. Yet he did that part slower, and smoother. 

It almost felt domestic. Moran could feel heat trickling into his cheeks at the thought, and apprehension set in. He didn't give into his instincts to jolt away, and thanked his military experience for once since he was able to settle his pulse and stay still. He fought the tension rising in his shoulders, and was partially thankful when Jim was done tying the scarf. It had taken Jim way too long to do that, and the action soared many miles past being appropriate. James still stayed put though, fiddling with the scarf to make sure it was perfect and running the palm of his hand down the knitted material. 

Moriarty stepped back, briskly nodding. “That’ll do.” 

Slipping on sunshades Moriarty propped open the door with his foot, impatiently waiting for Sebastian to get the hint to walk out of it. Lucky for Sebastian, he was a fast thinker. 

Moriarty quickly strutted ahead to catch up to Moran, a slight spring in his steps. “I really need to take you out shopping then Sebby.” Sebastian doesn't react to the new pet name of his, hoping that his lack of reaction will stop Jim from using it. Unknown to Moran though, James saw the small flicker of irritation that flashed in his cobalt eyes. 

Moriarty gave him a gaping grin flooded in jagged blinding white teeth. “I just love meeting clients. Seeing the fear on their faces that they try so hard to hide but can’t. By the end of my meetings they stench in it. I especially love the ones where they think it is going to come out in their favor.” His smile widened and a spark erupted behind his onyx pupils. 

Moran elects for not commenting. 

A sleek grease car slid up besides Jim, who was unfazed by it and hoped in. When Sebastian saw that he wasn't going to scoot over, he was too late on getting the message and met with the car door slamming in his face. Cursing, he walked on the other side of the car. 

Bastard. Moran silently fumed as he slipped into the car. 

Jim was just bending back into the seat from telling the driver the address. 

The car smoothly took off, and between the three a stiff silence ensued. 

Jim folded his right leg over his left, and rested his elbow against the car window. Perching his head on the palm of his hand he turned to Sebastian. His sunshades slipped down his nose and he swiftly nudged them back up with his pointer finger. Running his hand through his gelled dark hair he sent a crooked smile Moran’s way. “You’ll have to loosen up eventually.” He derided. 

Sebastian didn't realize that he was sitting so tensely and allowing the once awkward silence to choke him. Normally uncomfortable situations didn't faze Sebastian like this, and the feeling of fleeting nervousness left him confused.   Moran settled into his seat more and looked out the window, ignoring Jim’s penetrating stare that made his shoulders itch. 

Sebastian hoped the meeting place was close by. 

—————————————

Sebastian’s not unfamiliar with the feeling of a gun nestled into his temple. The cold biting metal sending heated shocks that constrict around his peeling spine and causing his heart pulsate just a little quicker. Although not necessarily in just fear, but anticipation and thrill. 

But there were some things that were different about it this time. One, he didn’t have a plan to get out of the situation. Two, he was doing it to protect someone other then himself. 

And now three, the person holding the gun has given him the way out of it.

“Leave and don’t say a word about any of this.” Sebastian didn't dare to move, but is honestly surprised when he heard the words from the voice on his left. 

“What?!” A short stockier man, who was already standing from the earlier tension and lividness in the room, dug the palm of his hands into the cool reflective table below him.

The gun shifted position from the man shrugging his shoulders. It inched towards the back of his ear, ticking the tip of Sebastian’s left ear. “He doesn't know anything about us he’s just a bodyguard. Besides, one less body to clean.” 

“But he-“ The man’s face grew mahogany, and his spine snapped up. If the circumstances had been different Sebastian would have winced in empathy.

Instead, he was figuring enough of this shit.

In one smooth motion he had the man behind him crouched, gun resting at the back of his head. The room fell silent.

The male who was standing’s face wilted to ivory, and he lifted his slightly trembling stout arms in surrender. “Hey man come on just drop the gun and we won’t come after you.” 

Sebastian lowered the gun and started to walk towards Moriarty who was sitting calmly in a wheeled black chair. It was large, and the back of it cascaded over him, drenching him in shadows. 

“No.” The short man barked as his emerald eyes fixed Sebastian’s in a frigid stare. “Leave him.” 

Sebastian halted, and was met with Jim’s calm gaze. 

“This is Jim Moriarty! You know who he is. He isn't a man.” The man who was crouched slowly stood. 

The man in front of Moran nodded, pupils so small he could barely see them. “Yeah. If you stay with him he will kill you eventually. Every time we have met with him it’s a new bodyguard. He says he gets bored with them. You won’t last, no one ever has.” 

The decision was made so fast it stunned everyone, but mostly Sebastian. 

Sebastian finished walking toward Moriarty. 

But before Jim even stood, Moran’s vision whitens. 

When his vision returned he was pinned to the chair, gun gone. Sebastian slumped, hands falling and steadying themselves on the seat of James’ chair. The force of his hands coming down caused the obsidian chair to swivel slightly. Moran’s head throbbed. What the hell happened?

The gun was back, settled at Moran’s temple. Jim makes eye contact with him, but his eyes were void of emotion. Through his irises Sebastian could see his blue ones which were also hollow. 

“Too bad.” The man behind him adjusted the gun, digging it deeper into his head. 

Good thing Sebastian wasn’t afraid of death. 

Sebastian kept his eyes open, unblinking. Staring dead on into Moriarty’s eyes. 

The man pulled the trigger.

But then, nothing.

Sebastian blinked and Jim thin lips stretched into the whispers of joy. His tungsten pupils darkened further as the man moved the fake gun away from Sebastian’s temple. Amusement dances across his lashes as a loose laugh tumbles off Moriarty’s tongue. “Congratulations Sebby dear,” His simper became obscured around the edges, “You’re hired.”  The thing Sebastian was most disappointed about was the realization that Jim wasn't going to drop the new nickname.

 And if dear was another new one then, well, Sebastian just might have to make sure the next gun pointed at him that goes off is real.


	2. Chapter 2

Eleven months later and the first meeting was not the craziest, nor was it the last time Sebastian had a gun directed at him. Although some of them were frauds, Sebastian knew long before they shot off. 

Eleven months of pure insanity, and it all went by in a whirlwind.

If Sebastian took the time out of his busy chaotic schedule to think about how long it had been, he wouldn’t know. 

To him it felt like a lifetime. 

It felt right.

In eleven months he had seen Moriarty in all his angles, and all his personas. He knew more about him than anyone. 

Eleven months is the longest Moriarty has kept someone who has had to work in such close quarters with him. Someone he has had to communicate with at least once a day.

Eleven months. 

Any yet, the strangest event to Moran so far is the present. 

Jim hasn’t contacted him in thirteen hours. 

Granted, Jim had his own life and at times needed space. Of course he had a life outside of Sebastian… kind of. 

Moran knew he defiantly had those days when he needed space any ways. Days where it was better, and safer, not to go searching him out. 

In the eleven months he has worked for Jim, the longest Jim didn't talk to him was twenty six hours. But Sebastian had known Jim was tucked away in his room the whole time. 

This time he doesn’t know where he is. 

Panic nags at his esophagus, but he shoves it back down, leaving it to squat in his stomach. It grips his heart and shakes it tight, filling him with nausea. But Sebastian knows that no amount of anxiety will help the situation. 

Fourteen hours now. 

Sebastian now has the strong urge to vomit. His phone is at three percent from keeping it on him the whole time. He jabs it harshly with the old of his index finger as it starts to dim. At each second passing of no notifications aggravation sweeps in, numbing his consternation. Where is he?

Six minutes later he gives in to running to grab his charger. His eyes ache, and each time he blinks moisture has stopped offering relief. 

Fifteen hours. 

He starts to listen to the notion crawling through the crevices of his brain that something is most likely serious wrong now. 

Moriarty went off the radar for seventeen hours once, but it ended up that he was in another country. Sebastian had been livid that Jim “forgot” to tell him, and Jim had taken great delight in that. 

He said how much he loved getting his tiger worked up. 

Yes, another great nickname Moriarty had deemed him to Sebastian’s everlasting joy. 

Sebastian swore that if it was another one of those times… 

Sixteen hours.

Fuck this. 

Sebastian starts the search for Jim, finding him in just under thirty minutes in a warehouse.

Guilt gnaws at his consciousness that screeches that he should have looked sooner. That he should have known within the hour that Jim didn’t respond that something was wrong. It wouldn't have hurt to at least check in on where he was, it wasn’t like Moriarty would have known he was doing so. 

Yet Sebastian always got nervous that he would figure out, and know that he was actually worried about him.

Of course Moran would say it was his job to look after him… but Jim would know there was more to it then that. 

Well, now Moriarty is going to know. That is, if he is still alive.

—————————

Violet and specks of cayenne are stained along his pale thin arms. Yellows are also beginning to blend in, but aren't as visible yet. His white shirt is ripped along his torso and chest, revealing deep wounds that steadily leak thin merlot. Most of the jagged cuts are healing now, left with a thick layer of dry crusted blood coated over them. But the deepest cut on his right thigh leaks profoundly, staining his dark jeans. Crimson shadows under his left eye, and violet begins to seep through along his upper lid and down below. 

Moriarty is a shade paler than usual, which should not be possible to achieve. 

Eighteen hours. 

Eighteen hours in a room tucked away on the second floor of a dust cluttered useless warehouse. 

A thick layer of porpoise coats the old scuffed wooden floors. The window on the right is broken. The wooden top ledge of the window cascades across the barely standing shattered glass chunks, concealing the room in shadows and a tone of eeriness. But Jim is far from put off by it all, being more depressed about his ruined attire and the state of the room he was in. The floors desperately needed to be remodeled, and bring wooden floors everywhere to shame. Or the outdated curtain that James has deemed a scrape of cloth that hangs over the window to his right. How the faded color of it clashes terribly with the floors, even when it had its better days.

Down below chaos ensues. Several guns are shooting. Yells of fright in foreign tongues echo off the walls, and quickly everything falls motionless. 

Pale chapped lips draw together tightly in a smirk. Although the action hurts and crinkles his lips even more, Jim doesn't mind at all. He takes pleasure from the pain.

But the time it took his hero to arrive quickly makes his aching smirk vanish. Eighteen hours. Jim had guessed at the very least twelve.

His tiger must be getting old. 

The floor beneath him shakes and loud thumping ensues, growing closer and closer. The beginnings of a smile tug at the corner of Jim’s mouth. Ah yes it’s his tiger all right. 

The door that was hanging on its last hinge gives away easily at Sebastian’s foot, falling to the floor just inches away from Jim. Clouds of dust erupt into the air, causing Jim to violently cough and hack. He didn't realize how much his lungs throbbed until now. 

Sebastian grips his pistol tightly in his hands, face hard as he scans the room. When his eyes fall on Moriarty they widen in bewilderment, and his rigid stance falls to one of deep concern. Letting the gun hang loosely in his hand he rushes over to Jim, quickly falling to his knees. His eyes rake across his bruises and scars, and which each one he finds the spark of worry and acrimony ignite brighter. 

Hesitantly he reaches out, slowly tracing down his cheek. He jolts, shoulders hunching as he backs up a bit. “Damn you’re cold.” 

A deep frown etches its way onto his tan lips. 

His hand is back, slicking back his hair and inspecting his scalp. His hand is huge in comparison to Jim’s head. Jim lolls at his ministrations. 

Immediately Moran knows he is out of it. 

“Did they hit your head?”

After a moment Jim brings himself to shake his head, jostling Sebastian’s hand deeper into his hair. 

Sebastian leans his head backwards to inspect the rest of him, and curses when he sees his right thigh. His hand jumps out of Jim’s hair, and a whine of protest croaks out of Jim. Morairty is too out of it to care, starting to feel the effects from the blood loss now. 

As Sebastian pulls back his ripped jeans to inspect the gash, Jim paws at his wrist. Sebastian tilts his head, lips crooking in an amused grin. “Whose the cat now?” He jokes, but snaps out of it when he hears a floorboard creak behind him. 

“Leave, or else I’ll shoot.” 

Sebastian doesn't bother to turn around. Rolling his eyes he keeps his gun tucked to his chest, and turns around. Unthinkingly he shoots, hitting the man directly in the heart. The man staggers back, eyes wide in surprise as he falls. 

Moran turns back to Jim who is grinning and swaying a bit, his small hand now eating at Sebastian’s coat lapels. “That’s what I like about you Basher, you don’t waste your time talking.” 

Moran glares down at him in sudden realization. The words of the man give him deja vu. “This was a test, wasn't it?” Sebastian pushes Jim off him, watching him fall back. 

Are the scars even real? 

Jim purses his lips, vibrating them in a loud, “Hmmm?” 

“You’re Jim Moriarty. You don’t get captured… unless you want to.” 

James sable eyes bore into his. “Oh Basher you know me better than I thought.”   
Sebastian exhales roughly, all his past apprehension skipping the dust around on the floor. “And you’re more committed than I thought.”  Jim sways again, trying to move closer to Moran. Sebastian catches him in a light grip by his shoulders, and steadies him. He kneels himself down more so that he can make eye contact with him. “Jim?” Jim’s eyes close, and a soft broken exhale whisks out of his breath. “Hey? Hey!” Moran shakes him a little, and Jim’s eyes lazily flutter open. A hazy look of irritation wallows through them. 

Sebastian picks Jim up, bridal style, and jostles him so that his head lies in his neck. Jim’s arms are caged in-between his shoulder and Moran’s chest. “Hang on, we’re almost to the car.” Moriarty is light, much lighter then Sebastian thinks he should be. 

Moriarty hisses, and Sebastian halts. Glancing down he is immediately met with a currant stain on his trousers. One of the many pairs that Jim has bought for him, so Jim wasn't going to be happy about it. Jim’s are in much worse condition though; the blood is somehow still pouring out of the wound. 

He scans over Jim’s face again, and lightly brushes over his black eye with the pad of his right thumb. Jim’s eyes squeeze shut. Moran shifts positions so he holds Jim’s injured leg more carefully, nursing it at his hip.

There’s no way the injuries are fake. 

“So it was real… somewhat?” Moran questions as he rushes down the stairs, doing his best to keep Jim still. 

“Yeah enemies of mine.” Jim breaths out. 

Oh Moriarty, the ever so theatrical. Sebastian huffs. Idiot. 

Moran is thankful that he parked his car close to the entrance, but it is tucked away in the shadows so it isn’t too obvious. Ripping open the back door he quickly lies Jim down, and straightens him out so that his injured leg is still. 

Jim’s eyes are glossy and he looks even more out of it. “Ohhh Sebby car sex, kinky.” A long airy giggle wavers in the air between the two, creeping up Sebastian’s spine and making him cringe. 

“Damn you’re out of it,” Sebastian takes a deep breath, exhaling, “Okay…” 

First he peels back the bloody shirt. “Oh tiger slow down.” Jim playfully slaps him on the arm, but it’s hard and the sound residues in the space between them. Sebastian’s arm stings, but the sight before him is enough to distract him.   “Oh God.” 

Jim’s chest is littered in scars. Purples, yellows, and all shades of red erupt across his gray skin. 

“Nope try again.” James cackles, but his voice is starting to leave him.

Remembering the water bottle he keeps in the pocket of his backseat, Sebastian stretches over Jim and reaches for it. The ghosts of Jim’s shallow breath haunt the back of his neck, causing him to involuntarily shiver. He grasps hold of himself and rips off his, thankfully clean, shirt. He uses it as a cloth and pours some of the lukewarm water onto Jim’s chest. 

“I’m not familiar with this type of foreplay.” Thick amusement is drenched in his mumble. 

Sebastian dabs at the cuts and his white shirt is now scarlet. Looking at his leg Sebastian curses, “Christ you’re still bleeding.” 

He thinks about wrapping his shirt around it, but decides stitching it now would be the best. Underneath the back seat is a first aid kit. There is also one taped to the top of the trunk, and another taped to the bottom of the passengers seat. He obligates for the one under the back seat. 

“Oh you’re so prepared; how did you know?” Jim throws his head back, and then rubs the back of his skull into the cochin of the leather seat back and forth. 

Sebastian’s starting to wonder if they gave him something, or if all the blood loss is getting to him. 

“I have to do this now.” Sebastian pulls out the needle and thread. 

“Oh you dog.” 

The top of his cheeks tinge pink, but Sebastian decides not to acknowledge that. 

Taking the water bottle and disinfection spray he tries to clean the wound as best as he can before he starts to sew the wounds.

“Sebby,” Jim whines out. Sebastian’s face engulfs itself in flames. Moran rolls his eyes at himself. 

“Jim don’t move.” Sebastian commands, and makes sure to hold Jim down roughly. 

Jim moans lewdly, “Like to take control do you?”   Moran stares intently at the sobbing wound, and begins to sew him up. By the end his neck is cramping and his eyes hurt from the intense focus he put into it, but the wound is stitched. 

Sebastian is met with silence. Only then does he realize it has been way too quiet. 

“Boss.” Blue calculating eyes flash up to Jim’s porcelain face, and are met with gray closed lids. “Mori- Jim. James.” Lightly he taps Jim’s cold cheek. “Jim.” His pitch heightens as freezing panic steps on his vocal cords, spreading ice down them. The ice cracks his voice, and burns his lungs. 

Jim’s eyes slowly flutter open, and he groans. His hand twitches up and moves to his chest, but Moran quickly slaps it away. “No no don’t touch it.”

Lazily Moriarty stares at him. Sebastian calmly speaks to him, and keeps his hand on him to keep James grounded. “You just lost a lot of blood; you’ll be okay.” Sebastian isn't sure at that point who he’s trying to comfort more. “Just rest and fluids when we get home.” 

“Thanks doctor.” Jim slurs, a heavy tone of fatigue dragging his consonants out. 

Sebastian exhales roughly, and most of the pent up stress runs out with his breath. 

Before Moran can catch himself, he is running his index finger along Jim’s chapped bloody lips. “You’re insane.” Is all he can bring himself to say, and he loosely smiles as he pulls his finger away. His dark brown eyes are loosing their glint, and are cloudy.

Jim huffs, “That’s why you love me.”    
Sebastian freezes, blood turning frigid. 

Had he been that obvious? 

Of course James noticed. 

Sebastian sighs, and from the force of it his shoulders collapse into his slouching figure. 

Their relationship has always been complicated, yet simple at the same time. They can communicate silently, yet sometimes Sebastian craves words. Verbal proof. 

But he never wanted to overstep, and risk loosing everything he has built up these past months. 

Seeing no harm in it, Moran answers honestly. “Yeah, I do.” 

Moriarty is surprised, even in his state. His shock makes Sebastian halt once he sees it when he turns back around, fingers biting into the vaseline he is holding. 

Before he can second guess himself Moran slathers a bit of vaseline on his fingers, and slowly rubs it into Jim’s lips. 

Moriarty’s eyes have slipped close again, and Sebastian watches him carefully to make sure he doesn't drift off. Although there seems to be no concussion, worry still ebbs at Moran’s common sense. He knows he should get James showered immediately to clean his wounds better, and then bandage them. 

“Okay.” Sebastian has gotten away with touching Jim’s lips as long as possible, and wipes the extra vaseline on his fingers on his trousers. 

Moran starts to get off him, but is stopped by Jim attempting to grab his arm. Jim flails, attempting to sit up. Sebastian instantly, lightly, pushes his chest back. “No Jim stay dow-“   James, finally reaching his wrist, grips it as tight as he can. “I love you too.” 

Sebastian would have never believed him if it weren't for the look in his eyes. They were lighter, and the usual mad glint was replaced by something shinier and purer. Something more opening, trusting, and almost… innocent. They stared right into Sebastian’s eyes, but seemed to be looking past their blue orbs. He was openly staring, in an adoring way, into Sebastian’s soul. Into the person he is inside and out. Jim knows exactly who he is. 

Sebastian has never seen James look this way, and it scares him a bit. 

But then there’s a deep warmth that floods into his chest, something that Sebastian has never felt before. Something that tilts his lips upward, and makes his veins soar with bubbling joy. 

“You’re pulse is racing.” Jim’s smile hangs as he fixes Moran with a predatory gaze. 

Moran urgently gets up, but Jim yanks him back down just as fast with a surprising amount of strength. They hover over each other. “Jim no. I’ve gotta get you home. You need a shower and new bandages…” Sebastian doesn't even know why he's bothering saying this.

Jim tugs him down, hard, and their lips are millimeters apart. Jim is straining his neck upwards trying to connect them, but Moran pulls away. “No.” Sebastian growls out, partially irked with himself with how much he wants to kiss Jim. But then again, does he really want a mouth full of vaseline? 

“But I want to.” Moriarty whines out.

“No James you’re out of it,”   Jim shakes his head, attempting to sit up again. Sebastian holds him down, hand sprawled over Jim’s chest. He can feel his heartbeat quivering underneath his palm. 

“Beside later you won’t.” Moran adds. He isn't giving his hopes up on the love thing, this is James Moriarty after all. 

“Sebby!” Jim wails and shakes Sebastian’s arm that he is still fighting to hold. 

“James.” Sebastian growls out in warning.

Jim sighs and kisses his wrist. Reluctantly he lets him go. Sebastian’s heart quivers at the raw sorrow daubing his irises, before he fully registers what James has just done. 

Moran gapes, then shakes his head and slams the car door shut. He tears his fingers through his blonde locks, and wrenches the drivers car door open. The shit he has to put up with. Dropping roughly into the seat, he adjusts the mirror so that he can see Jim.

Moriarty has shifted positions a little, and his arms hang off the side of the seat.

“Seb? Seb? Sebbbyyy?” 

Moran ignores him, huffing as he jabs his key into the ignition and takes off. He usually would have sped, but minds Moriarty in the back and tediously goes the exact speed limit. 

“You don’t believe me do you?” Moriarty hollers out. 

Again, Moran ignores him. He speeds the car up a little. Part of Sebastian feels like turning the radio on, but he knows that would only serve to discommode Jim. James would end up doing something dumb to injure himself further, or screech even louder. 

“I love you!”   Sebastian has never been so thankful to be at a red light. 

Moriarty continues to repeat the confession, each time somehow surpassing his last volume. 

Moriarty goes to sit up, and Moran blindly extends his arm backwards to pushes him down again. This time he does so harsher. 

“Owww Tiger!” Sebastian knows he isn't in any pain.

“Unfasten your claws.” 

The light turns green, and Sebastian hopes Jim won’t attempt to sit up again. 

Of course luck isn't on his side. With one hand on the steering wheel, the other holds Jim back. 

“My lips hurt, the vaseline didn't work.” James shifts, and Moran keeps his eyes fixed on the road. 

“We’re almost home.” Sebastian mumbles. “Then you can use your overly priced tinted chapstick.” Moran smirks. 

“Hmm no,” Jim hums and Sebastian knows he isn’t mulling over his next words at all, “You know what would make them feel better? A kiss.” 

Moran swerves the car a little, but it is quickly on the straight path again. 

Jim rests his head on Sebastian’s arm, nuzzling his forehead into it. He moves back and forth, and speaks into his arm. “You’re my prince charming Bastian.”   Moran snorts at that. 

“No really.” Jim continues to nuzzle his forehead into his arm, akin to a cat. 

“You save me and whisk me away…” Jim trails off tiredly giggling, and Sebastian openly grins. 

“So that makes you, what, the princess?”   Jim hums, “I prefer queen.” That sets him off giggling again, but it’s his rare genuine ones. 

For the rest of the ride Moriarty stays in that position, and his mumbling soon turns into drooling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter, enjoy!

“You’re an idiot boss.” 

  Eleven months ago Sebastian would've never even dared to think this around Moriarty, but now it’s a constant permanent thought. 

Jim sits as eloquent as ever, knees crossed as he nurses a steaming cup of tea in the palms of his ivory hands. 

Moran will never understand how Jim drinks it so hot without burning himself. 

Cooly, he takes a sip. With a calculating stare he studies Sebastian, eyes roaming up and down his figure. But no matter how deep Sebastian looks into his soot eyes, he can’t begin to theorize what Jim is thinking. 

All James does is hum, his lack of response causing Sebastian scorching blood to thicken and quickly rip through his veins. He sharply inhales through his nostrils, frigid air temporarily cooling his esophagus. 

He exhales, shoulders loosening a bit. “Honestly Jim, allowing yourself to get taken by people who hate you and almost getting yourself killed all for, what, to test me? That’s bullshit, you've already tested me and I do everything you ask of me perfectly. And-“ 

Moriarty sighs, effectively cutting him off as he brings the pads of his right fingers up to rub at his right temple. His left hand keeps a strong hold on the tea cup, resting it against his thigh. “Bastian you're not my father-“

“-Well maybe I should be.” Immediately regret stomps on his harsh tone, obliterating his confidence. It warps around his brain, halting the rest of the sentence that lingers in the crevices of it. 

Jim smirks, staring at Sebastian through his lashes. “Ooh kinky.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, bottom lip hanging heavier than usual. “You know what I meant. Going out almost killing yourself just to test me? I’d almost, no, I think you were doing it to get attention. If you’re going to act five then someone needs to be the adult around here.” 

“Easy Basher,” James tusks, the amusement slipping off his pale lips. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. I get bored and don’t like traditional tests. Everyone knows the right answers, and they’re boring.” He tosses his head back into the armchair, widening his eyes as he drags out the last word before blowing the last of his breath out in a long light exhale. After several seconds he straightens, lifting his tea cup slightly. “I like to push peoples limits. Besides, you should know your job has obstacles.”

His tea swirls, smoke dancing in circles around the rim of his chiffon cup as Jim swivels the glass from side to side. His movements are sharper, eyes drabber. The cups movements are akin to a cat’s tail shifting briskly, irritation evading from the motions. 

Sebastian knows Jim is starting to get angry, but it doesn’t make him tread lightly. 

He’s getting closer to the truth. And he wants answers. 

“Obstacles that are made up by the boss? I signed up to protect you, and you’re running off purposely getting hurt.” 

His lids narrow, and Moriarty peers at Sebastian out of the corners of his eyes. “Why do you care? You passed.” Moriarty uncrosses his legs, consonants biting as they whip off his tongue. 

“You know the reason if you remember what I told you last night.” Sebastian glowers at him, spine remaining stiff. 

Moriarty slams his tea cup down on the table, and Sebastian holds in his surprise that the petite glass didn't shatter.  

“Why do you keep testing me? Because you don't trust me?” He challenges him and Jim slouches back into the arm chair, mirroring him.   “Yes,” Jim’s frown tightens, “no,” He tosses his head back again, groaning. 

They both remain motionless, Sebastian patiently waiting for Moriarty’s answer. 

James draws his spine up, but keeps the blades of his shoulders against the back of the chair. He narrows his eyes again. “God you're being sooooo domestic you're actually going to make me say it?” 

“Say what?” Sebastian doesn't know how the conversation got here, honestly. But now he wants to end it, and correctly this time. With words.  
   
“I said it enough times for a lifetime last night. With that sentence comes a lot attached to those words. There’s a fine print to it.” 

 They both stare at each other. Jim huffs out dramatically, shoulders caving into his body. “I don’t trust anyone. Everyone always does me wrong, so why should you be any different?”  

A raw feeling Sebastian hasn’t felt in years tears his heart apart, and all at once his chest throbs, sobbing in pain. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second, lips barely parting at the foreign emotion. He sucks in an inhale, almost choking on it. The feeling is obese, a strong aftertaste lingering in his system. 

He’s hurt, but only has himself to blame for getting into this. He wanted the truth. 

All the while James is conflicted at the same emotion that wrestles between his ribs, the feelings radiating off Moran intensifying the ache in his bones. For a second sympathy flashes through his irises, but he struggles to bury it before his sniper sees it. 

For once Moriarty doesn't know how he feels.   And it scares him. 

He can’t feel fear. Nothing is supposed to scare him. Moriarty is fear himself. 

James crosses his legs again, not knowing what else to do. “Don’t be wounded my dear, if anyone’s being offended it’s me. Everyone always leaves and backstabs me, so I don't want to one day actually be disappointed when it happens.” 

As the pain fades whispers of fury ignites in its place, screeching louder as each second passes in Moran’s mind. 

Jim exhales, debating with the next words that dance on his tongue. Before he can stop them they flood out in a crackled wide mess, “But even if I was prepared, with you, I… would still be sad. I don’t… I wouldn’t be able, it would hurt for a long time. Longer than when anyone else did.” 

The tone puts out his bitterness. Instantaneously Sebastian knows Jim is telling the truth, no one could be that good of an actor. “Ah,” that’s all he knows to say. He searches his brain for more words, but doesn't know what sounds right. 

“I thought you’d find me sooner. For a minute I didn't think that…” Jim adverts eye contact, taking a gulp of his lukewarm tea to drown the rest of the sentence. 

Guilt gnaws at the remains of his heart, but he shoves it aside. “But you knew I’d find you.” Moran draws his spine upwards, eyes widening and lightening a tad. 

Jim nods, swallowing. 

“So you do trust me.” Sebastian stares at his face, confirming what he now knows. 

Jim huffs, rolling his eyes. “Of course I do tiger, I thought that was obvious. Within the first hour I would've given up on anyone else. You took eighteen, by the way. It was so tedious, sitting on that hard dusty floor for that long. I expected a lot better from you.” He glares, brining his cup up to his lips again. 

They sit in awkward silence, none of the two knowing what else to say. Jim waves his hand dismissively, trying to wipe away the mood. “Well not to worry I won’t test you again.” 

“Yeah you better not cause there’s no need to.” Sebastian glares and Jim is surprised by his sudden fury. 

Jim glares, anger heightening his pitch. “Good. Next time I won’t have to waste eighteen hours of your precious life when you typically would've been, what, eating, sleeping, or doing more pointless breathing? Or, oh, drinking or smoking? What were you doing for those eighteen hours?” James lips tilt into a smile, but it lacks joy. 

“Well for the first five I was doing an actual job that you gave me; a real job. Then it took me another hour and a half to get home, and then for the next, what,” Sebastian jabs his fingers out, counting the hours remaining on his hands. 

In any other situation Moran would've laughed at the image of himself angrily counting on his fingers. 

“Ten hours and thirty minutes-“ 

“-Eleven hours and thirty minutes.” James simper twists into a slanted crack that is dry and hollow, mirroring his irises. 

Moran rolls his eyes, “Fine, eleven hours and thirty minutes I was wondering where the hell you were. I didn't want to come running after you cause who knows where the hell you go.” 

  Moriarty glares, “Well it’s your job to know where am I as my bodyguard isn't it?”

  “I wasn’t on the clock!” He growls out, popping out of his seat. His knuckles are white, fingers chewing into the palms of his hands. 

“You live with me so you’re always on the clock.” Jaw clenched, the words ooze out between his sharp teeth. 

He barks, before stilling, attempting to breathe. “You leave without telling me where you go all the time. Hell I leave you alone to do jobs every other day.”   

“You should still know where I am, it’s your job to protect me. And how are you supposed to do that if you don’t know where I am?” James crosses his arms, leaning back into the leather seat as he bores his pupils across Sebastian’s face. 

Moran’s broken laughter escapes in a trembling exhale as he shakes his head momentarily, before stilling. A smirk wipes the frustration off his lips, and he turns back to Moriarty with a glower. “Okay then, start notifying me. Every time you step away from me, start texting where you are.”

“I wasn’t aware you needed someone else to do your job. Just track me!” Moriarty uncrosses his legs, stomping his foot down on the wooden-paneled floor. He draws his spine forwards, straightening it. 

“Exactly!” Sebastian stomps over to him, looming above the leather ebony armchair. “That’s what I did in the first place, so I was doing my job!”

“Yeah some sixteen hours later! What was more important than me?” Jim leans forwards even more, staring up at the defined jawline of his employee. 

Moran tilts his head down, keeping the blistering eye contact in tact. He allows it to warp the flames up his spine, turning all his emotions other than frustration to ashes. “I told you nothing. I wasn’t doing anything. I sat for hours by my phone until right before it died hoping you would text. I didn't want to invade your personal life,” He sharply inhales, before sarcastically stating, “I’m so sorry next time I’ll track you the minute after you’re late.” He exhales, taking a step back. “Hell bringing traffic or you dilly dallying in the mix.” Mumbling this with his back turned, Sebastian plops down into the armchair opposite of Jim’s. 

Jim peers at him with narrowed eyes, irksomeness flickering in the mocha flecks of his pupils. “Why didn't you? Look for me right away, I mean. Could’ve saved us both the eleven hours. Even tracking me after two hours, why did you wait so long? A simple track and you would've known I was fine if it were any other day. Then you could've went back to boring stuff instead of… fretting over me.” James eyes brighten as his lips hang open a bit. “You sat by your phone waiting for my text for eleven hours and thirty minutes?” 

Moran pauses, frowning as the flames that were once consuming his spine turn to lick at his cheeks. He fights to put them out, frown fading into a straight line. He adverts the sweltering eye contact momentarily, no longer being able to bear the heat. “Eleven hours, I ate for the first thirty when I got here.” Sebastian sheepishly admits, not at all liking where this conversation has turned. It was supposed to be about Jim still testing him, not about Moran! 

Jim huffs out a short laugh. Moran is shocked when he hears the whispers of amusement; James rarely ever genuinely giggles. “Then you sat staring at your phone for eleven hours for me to text? I’ve been gone for longer, what about that day when I left the country?”   

Moran makes eye contact again, fighting to keep his face neutral. “A day, before I tracked you. Yet I had jobs in between, but my phone was on me all day of course.” 

Jim shakes his head, a loose smile weaved onto his lips. “I just don't understand why you wouldn't track me right away.” 

“Me neither boss.” Sebastian gets up, hoping James will get the hint and drop whatever this conversation has turned into. 

  “No clearly you do.” Jim leans closer, perching his elbows on his knee caps. Squinting at Sebastian, the look in his eyes is of a predator about to seize their prey. 

Moran swallows, and Jim’s eyes grow shadowy as the snippets of a smirk pull at the corner of his lips. 

Shit. 

“I’m done here, this wasn’t even real so I don't get why we’re arguing.”   

“Oh no no no my dear, we aren’t arguing. You’re hiding something.” He sings the last statement tauntingly, mock simper widening. 

Moran sighs, shoulders heaving into his collarbones. “You already know the answer, I already admitted it earlier.” 

“But that’s not the answer it doesn't make any sense. There’s something else. Something tied to that perhaps? Come on Basher, we both know it’d be best for you to tell me now, save both of us a lot of time.” Jim leans back, racking his brain for reasons.

Moriarty mulls aloud, making it harder for Sebastian to battle his embarrassment that desperately wants to bleed on his cheeks. “With love it’d be expected that the person would track the other the second one didn't know their whereabouts since a person would be scared and want to know… ah.” James simpers, staring up at him. 

“Yes congratulations Jim, you figured it out.” Moran briskly struts for the kitchen, needing a beer. 

A hand shoots out for his wrist, gnawing into the veins of the inside of his arm. 

“That’s why your cheeks got darker admitting you sat around waiting for hours for me. That’s why you didn't track me, you didn't want me to know.” 

Sebastian purses his lips, lost for words. Scenarios such as this have only happened in his nightmares; he would've never thought this would be occurring between them. 

Moriarty can feel his heat staining his skin. He stares up at him, and Sebastian has his full head turned away from him. Through the blond blades of his hair James can see the pink tint attacking the tips of his ears. 

It’s the most endearing thing he’s seen in a long time. 

“Aww tiger’s shy.” James giggles. 

Sebastian tries to pull away, but Jim tightens grip. His body surges forwards with the effort to keep his sniper back, but he quickly straightens when Sebastian halts his movement. 

“You know I can see when people track me, and if it were something dumb then I’d know you were worried. Like when I left the country and called you out on it the last time, but you denied it so hard and used your job as an excuse.” Moriarty cackles, memories of Sebastian’s angered face painting across his brain. Red that time out of fury. 

Sebastian sighs, “Yep. I didn't track you because I didn't want you to know I cared. I didn't want this conversation.”   At his look of defeat, Jim’s humor melts away.

Stupid emotions.

Jim groans, shoving the words out of his mouth he knows Sebastian needs to hear. “Basher, I care deeply for you. That’s what I was trying to say, what I already said, really. You didn't suspect this, clearly, so I guess I have to state this straight out, again. And you better listen closely because I’m not going to say this often.” He glares, waiting for Moran to turn and look at him. 

Immediately he does, cobalt eyes clouded in puzzlement. Jim rolls his eyes at his sometimes so daft sniper. “I love you Sebastian Moran. God I can't believe you're making me say it.” Moriarty gags, a full blown body shudder wrecking down his limbs. “Gah it’s just so broad and overused and ordinary I hate it!” He stills, taking a moment to collect himself before amusement skips across his lips. He makes eye contact again, smirking, “If you still don't understand, I have easier and much more, enjoyable, methods of showing it.” 

Not giving Sebastian a chance to comprehend the sentence he yanks Moran down by his wrist. Sebastian falls over chair, forehead thudding against Jim’s as his empty hand barely manages to clasp the arm of the armchair. Their pupils maneuver over each others features, Moran’s face being neutral while Jim’s akin to a shark.

Eyes darkening he traces his cool porcelain hands over Moran’s sultry cheeks. His frigid skin offers relief to Sebastian’s scorching skin. On instinct Sebastian leans into his hand, and Jim’s grin enlarges. Digging his nails into Sebastian’s wrist hard enough to draw blood he pulls him closer. 

Sebastian wonders what he’s just got himself into it. 

Tilting his head Moriarty slams his lips against Sebastian’s. Teeth clanking, he quickly fixes the kiss into a surprisingly smoother one. His lips are smooth, but Moran knows it’s because of all that product he pours on them. Even from just being chapped and bruised, Jim's expensive products conceal it. His mint breath burns up his nostrils, but it doesn't stop Sebastian from digging his hand into his onyx locks and pulling him closer. 

They break away after a while, chests rapidly moving as they silently fight for air. Both of their eyes absorbed by their pupils, they stare at each other, motionless. 

Jim is the first to shift his eye contact, glancing down at Sebastian’s wrist he is still hanging onto to. He pulls his hand away, studying the ruby claw marks etched and blending across Moran’s pale skin. 

Jim traces his fingers over the scratches, glistening lips twisting into a smirk. “I can give you much deeper and more tiger stripes than this.” 

He glances up through his lashes at Moran, who growls and hauls James forwards. In the kiss Jim’s smirk remains in tact. 

Whatever this is, it is definitely worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this! Thank you for taking the time to read this, it means a lot to me. If there's any mistakes please let me know; feedback is appreciated :)


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